Where the Wild Things Are!

One Saturday night a few months ago, Greg and I were up late watching movies on Netflix. It was about 1:30am when we decided to go to sleep. The routine is that we let the pups out to go pee-pee before bed. One puppy was in the TV room with us, but the other one was lounging on our bed at the other end of the house, taking a nap before he went to sleep for the night.

I pounced on Danger who was laying on the bed to give his a wake-up hug, and I noticed on the security camera (yeah, I know, what kind of country-girl has a security camera?! Story for another day)....that we had left the garage door open and there was a light on in the garage. I watched the security camera for a few seconds, and then to my shock and amazement I saw a big brown or maybe black thing wander past the doorway. A bear! I have never in my life had a bear in my garage. Oh, goody!

With that thought in mind, I ran at warp speed to the other end of the house, with one goal in mind. I was going to capture a bear in our garage! I yelled to Greg a summary of the situation as I passed him in the hallway. My poor husband did not even have a chance to speak before I attempted to use the remote to close the garage door to keep the bear inside. Fortunately for both the bear and I, the noise of the garage door got his attention, and he ran out of the garage, not even 25 feet from the patio door. He looked back at the garage door, which was slowly closing, and I swear that darned bear looked at me and shook his head and gave a pitying sigh.

Greg finally found his voice and asked me what I was doing. I told him I was trying to capture the bear in the garage but it got away. He asked me what I was going to do with the bear if I had captured it. Um. Good question. Hadn't really planned that far ahead.

Greg gave me a little lecture that night. I have been told that I am not allowed to capture any wild animals in the garage unless he gives me permission. Seriously?! He's no fun at all!

Piggly Wiggly

I've hit the wall. As it turns out, there is such a thing as TOO MUCH COUNTRY!

I have been very proud of myself these last 5 years. I arrived back in my hometown all full of energy and confidence as I embarked on my journey to become a country girl. And now I figured that since I have been home for 5 years, I have seen it all.....camps, outhouses, 4-wheelers, fishing, campfires, porch-sitting, peeing in the forest....what else could there possibly be? In fact, I think I got complacent, and way too cocky, so the Universe decided to demonstrate to me I am not fully country just yet!

Last week-end, our friends decided to have a pig roast. I have been to Hawaii several times, and I have been to a luau where a pig is roasted in the ground for many hours. When it is done, the meat is served along with salad, veggies and poi, a Hawaiian dish made from the fermented root of the taro, which has been baked and pounded into a substance like mashed potatoes, but way more gray and tasteless. Roasting the pig was all a very civilized process, mostly because all I really got to see was roasted pig meat (ie pork, as we like to call it in the city), on my plate.

Cut scene to a pig roast in rural New Brunswick. I SAW IT ALL! I didn't just see pork on my plate, but I saw a little piggly wiggly with his front legs up in the air like he was saying, "I don't want any trouble, please don't shoot!" I saw the little piggly wiggly as he (I assume it was a he, since surely some mean old farmer wouldn't kill a girl pig, would he?) was turning round and round on a barbecue spit. It was like he was on one of those rides at the fair that turns round and round and makes your stomach twist all up, but he didn't have a stomach anymore! Instead, it was making my stomach twist all up, and I was neither on the spit, nor on a ride at the fair.

And then there was the turkey. Well, what can I say about the turkey? The barbecue spit is only so long, so in order for the piggly wiggly and the turkey to fit on it at the same time, the pig's nose was shoved up the turkey's bum. I am sure that in the world of barnyard etiquette, it's politically incorrect for a pig to stick it's nose up there. The turkey surely has rights, and in my opinion its rights were being violated terribly!

About 10 hours later, we ate.

I have not been the same since. All I see in the background of my brain is a rotisserie with a pig and a turkey, both waving at me. The turkey is looking frightened, trying to get away from the pig, whose nose is in the turkey's no-man's land. 

I have been eating a lot of toast and cheese whiz since last week-end. Cheese whiz doesn't have eyes that will haunt you for weeks.

What Not to Say

When I have an "interesting interpersonal experience" with someone, it always makes me want to write. Simply put, when someone acts like a -butt- in my presence, it makes me want to ponder how this person's brain operates. I enjoy analyzing people's behaviour....including my own.

Since I LOVE lists (just ask my husband, who may not love lists as much as I do), I have come up with 6 of my least favorite things people have talked about at the dinner table. My advice is to -not- talk about this stuff with strangers, near strangers, acquaintances, friends, family, or any other human being. 

I have compiled this list using my experiences from the last 47 years, so if you think you see yourself described, it is surely pure coincidence. Really.

Top 6 things NOT to talk about at the dinner table:

6) Body parts on yourself or others that aren't working up to snuff and what needs to be purchase at the pharmacy to make sure there are no "accidents".

5) How you were at this really cool ethnic wedding once where guests were eating parts of animals that typically are discarded into the dumpster.

4) How you wish you had known your date had such handsome friends, because if you had known, you would have attended the dinner with one of them instead of your date (who is sitting beside you).

3) How you are not sure if your teen son is old enough to have lustful thoughts and take lustful actions (see an earlier blog I wrote for more gory details).

2) How great you are. Surely, you are the very best at what you do. It is obvious by the way you carry yourself in the world. But please do not attempt to entertain us with details of your terribly successful (and yet terribly boring) career. We all think we are the very best at what we do, but it is all a fanciful illusion.

1) Who has died in your family, what they died of, and where they are buried. 

In the event you are at dinner with someone you never want to see again, start at #1. You may not even make it to dessert. 

5 Years!

It has been 5 years since I " officially"  moved back to P-A. I know that because it is 5 years since I met Greg. I am not nearly so city-girl-ish anymore. In fact, I think I may have reverted to being a little bit country! Here are 5 things I have done recently to convince you I am truly getting back to my country roots!

1) I made pickles. I have always been such a pickle snob! In the city, I would buy the expensive kosher deli pickles like I was all-that. I am not Jewish, so I have no idea why I felt it necessary to buy kosher pickles. I don't even know what that means, but whatever it is, makes the pickles worth $7 a jar. Greg planted the garden and brought the cukes into the kitchen for me to "process". Sounds very sophisticated. I boiled up the pickle juice, put everything in a jar, and hoped for the best. Costs about 13 cents a jar, by my calculations.

2) We bought a tiller. Back when I was a kid, my Dad didn't have enough money to buy a tiller, so he McGyvered up an alternate solution. He took a square piece of wood, nailed some giant spikes into it, attached a set of handles and then hooked up the motors to it. By motors, I mean my little brother and I. Dad fashioned a harness around our waists, and we pulled while he bared down on the handles to till the soil. Since Greg and I don't have kids to harness up, we had to buy a proper gas powered tiller. (BTW, this is one of my favorite childhood memories! What fun to be little plow ponies!)

3) We have a 1976 trailer parked in our yard, like true billies from the hills. Ok, so it is not ours, we are storing it for a relative, but every true country-girl dooryard needs a hoaky camper trailer in their yard!

4) I was involved with cutting wood, straight from the forest. So.... Let me rephrase that. I helped throw a few pieces of wood onto a trailer. The other people I was with got really dirty and sweaty while I more or less watched. I didn't want to mess up my hair.

5) I had a rhubarb social on my porch. You may ask, "what would a rhubarb social be?". It was an idea I got from our honeymoon in PEI several years ago! I made 6 or 7 home-made desserts using the rhubarb from the patch in our yard. One Sunday afternoon, invited everyone I know to come and eat sweets, drink tea and socialize on my porch. Who the heck does something that wild on a Sunday afternoon?

I wish I was able to add a 6th thing to my list of country-escapades, but I am not able to at this time. I tried to convince Greg to let me buy 2 goats and they could live in the garage. He said no. I am actually somewhat relieved, as the only goats I have really been around were on my plate at the Indian Restaurant on Queen Street West in Toronto.

Clowns? Seriously?

My 10 year old niece, Lara, called me from Toronto the other evening. She was very concerned about my well-being. When I assured here I am fine, and that all is well in rural New Brunswick, I was curious about the specifics of why she was concerned. She said, "New Brunswick is part of Atlantic Canada, right?" I said yes. Then she said, "I heard on the news there have been clown sighting in Atlantic Canada and I wanted to warn you so they don't get you and Greg".

I laughed out loud. Of all of the things I might be scared of in this world, evil clowns are certainly not on the list.

When I was about 20 and living in Moncton for the summer, I had a job at the public library. I would often hold children's programs. There were these two little ruffian boys that attended regularly. They were brothers, and I could tell they likely were poor and were having kind of a dodgy childhood.

One day I was holding an activity where I was to be dressed as a clown and read to the children. I have full clown makeup, outfit, big shoes, ... The whole nine yards. I pretended to be just another participant in the activity and bounced in to the room and plopped my clown butt onto the floor beside the youngest ruffian. He glanced at me and said "Hi Donna".

Now I had full clown makeup on. That was just irritating that this little guy recognized me instantaneously! I actually look the same WITH or WITHOUT clown makeup?

In grad school I always had two or three jobs on the go to support myself. One day I saw an ad in the paper that an entertainment company was hiring clowns. I mean, people to dress as clowns. I got the job!

I went to my grad school classes and casually mentioned to my friend I just got a job as a clown. He  nodded and kind of looked uncomfortable, and then walked away. A few minutes later a couple of my other friends came over and asked me if I needed help. Baffled, I asked why. Apparently, my friend Orville thought I had a meltdown when I told him I got a job as a clown. No, Orville, a person can really have a job as a clown. Just like some people can have the name Orville, but have nothing to do with popcorn. The job didn't last long for me: I got fired for my poor balloon animal making skills. When a balloon animals busts, it can take out an eye, you know.

I was on a cruise with my family, and one of the afternoon shows was to have guests on the cruise face a panel of people who would guess what unusual jobs a person had. I got chosen to go on stage!  One of the panel members looked me over and said "did you have a job as a clown?". Ok, not that was a little over the top. I didn't even have clown makeup on or funny shoes.

I have a kind of love-hate relationship with my clown history.

So maybe the clowns should be scared of me.

Clowns? Seriously?

My 10 year old niece, Lara, called me from Toronto the other evening. She was very concerned about my well-being. When I assured here I am fine, and that all is well in rural New Brunswick, I was curious about the specifics of why she was concerned. She said, "New Brunswick is part of Atlantic Canada, right?" I said yes. Then she said, "I heard on the news there have been clown sighting in Atlantic Canada and I wanted to warn you so they don't get you and Greg".

I laughed out loud. Of all of the things I might be scared of in this world, evil clowns are certainly not on the list.

When I was about 20 and living in Moncton for the summer, I had a job at the public library. I would often hold children's programs. There were these two little ruffian boys that attended regularly. They were brothers, and I could tell they likely were poor and were having kind of a dodgy childhood.

One day I was holding an activity where I was to be dressed as a clown and read to the children. I have full clown makeup, outfit, big shoes, ... The whole nine yards. I pretended to be just another participant in the activity and bounced in to the room and plopped my clown butt onto the floor beside the youngest ruffian. He glanced at me and said "Hi Donna".

Now I had full clown makeup on. That was just irritating that this little guy recognized me instantaneously! I actually look the same WITH or WITHOUT clown makeup?

In grad school I always had two or three jobs on the go to support myself. One day I saw an ad in the paper that an entertainment company was hiring clowns. I mean, people to dress as clowns. I got the job!

I went to my grad school classes and casually mentioned to my friend I just got a job as a clown. He  nodded and kind of looked uncomfortable, and then walked away. A few minutes later a couple of my other friends came over and asked me if I needed help. Baffled, I asked why. Apparently, my friend Orville thought I had a meltdown when I told him I got a job as a clown. No, Orville, a person can really have a job as a clown. Just like some people can have the name Orville, but have nothing to do with popcorn. The job didn't last long for me: I got fired for my poor balloon animal making skills. When a balloon animals busts, it can take out an eye, you know.

I was on a cruise with my family, and one of the afternoon shows was to have guests on the cruise face a panel of people who would guess what unusual jobs a person had. I got chosen to go on stage!  One of the panel members looked me over and said "did you have a job as a clown?". Ok, not that was a little over the top. I didn't even have clown makeup on or funny shoes.

I have a kind of love-hate relationship with my clown history.

So maybe the clowns should be scared of me.

Killer Chickens

One of the great things about living in P-A is being able to go cross-border shopping, or as we like to call it, going "over cross". Or maybe it is "over across". Anyway, the slang term basically means spending our hard-earned Canadian dollar in a place that thinks it is only worth 80% what we think it's worth.

I have been going "over cross" since I was in the womb. In fact, I had learned how to smuggle shoes by the time I was 5.....wear old shoes over, buy new shoes, throw old shoes away, and whistle non-nonchalantly as you go to the border, hoping they don't smell the new leather on your feet. Just for the record, I don't smuggle anymore. I gave it up at about age 7 when I developed a fear of people in uniforms with guns.

So today I went "over cross" to get groceries. For those of you who say I should "buy local", I mostly do that, except in good old P-A the one grocery store in town does not sell egg beaters and nitrate free turkey bacon. So there.

I was kind of lolly gagging, it being Sunday and all, and wasn't thinking too straight when I choose something at the grocery store that would lead to trouble. Trouble with the people who have guns.

When returning to Canada, the nice lady with the gun at customs asked me what I was bringing back. I told her the dollar amount, and then the amount of tax. Based on these numbers alone, I would either be able to pass go or I would be sent in to pay duty. I ALWAYS have to pay duty because I don't smuggle, and I don't lie to people with guns.

Then she asked me the question....."Are you bringing back any chicken or eggs"? Gulp. Somehow in my relaxed lolly gagging state I had forgotten we are not supposed to bring chicken or eggs back due to the possible transmission of terrible diseases to Canada. I had eggs. 12 of them. I had to confess immediately, as I do not lie to people with guns.

I had to take my dozen eggs into the office for inspection. Turns out I had purchased KILLER eggs that had to be returned to the USA. Even though my eggs were destined to go into my belly, not to a farm, or to be licked by a chicken, the Canadian government has deemed it necessary to restrict USA eggs from entering the country. I tried to explain I would take the eggs home and eat them by Friday, and I wouldn't let any chicken near them, and that I have a stomach of steel and can digest even KILLER eggs, but the man with the gun just scowled. No negotiation. He told me to return the eggs to the US border and they would dispose of them for me. He even gave me a paper to explain to the US customs agent why I was not allowed to enter my own country. Damn eggs.

The US Customs Agent saw me getting turned away from my own Customs Agent, and said "What have you done?", to which I replied "Something illegal. Killer eggs. I am told you will take my eggs and dispose of them".

He said, "I don't want your eggs".
I said "But you have to take my eggs"
"Nope"
"Yup"
"Nope"

Here I was, arguing with a man with a gun. Sweet Jesus, what was I thinking?

I decided try another approach. "Nice looking customs office you have here. Got a kitchen? I can whip up some scrambled eggs up for you - I have green onions and cheese in the trunk. Tasty, hmmmm"?

"Nope"

So, I gave up and had to ask the obvious question "If Canada won't let me back in to the country with the eggs, and you won't take them, then what shall I do with the eggs?"

He suggested I give the eggs to someone. That was not helpful, as I don't know anyone in Maine. So I drove away, and realized I could just go to the nearest grocery store and give the eggs to someone there from the USA. THOSE folks can eat the killer eggs, just not us delicate Canadians with the sensitive digestive tracts.

So I drove to the grocery store. Parked. An older man was sitting in a van, obviously waiting for his wife to finish the grocery shopping. I introduced myself politely, and told him the situation. Then I asked him if he would like to eggs.

"Nope"
"WHATDAYMEAN NOPE?"
"No, thank you" (older man now looking slightly uncomfortable)

Walk away, Donna, walk away. I retreated. I was embarrassed. I am not a crazy woman trying to give away eggs on the street. HONEST!

I threw the eggs in the garbage can, thinking someone surely could have benefited from all that protein.

I went home. I gave Danger his new toy. A rubber chicken. Made in the USA. I gave up the eggs, but they'll NEVER get the chicken!

Mother's Day Melancholy

Hello, Readers. Normally I try to be funny. Not today. Today is Mother's Day, and I am an orphan. Granted, I am a 45 year old orphan with a husband, a house, a job, cars, food....... but today none of that stuff is being considered, because I just can't shake the feeling of being an orphan..

My Dad passed away in 1995, and Mum passed away a little over 2 years ago. I could just put on Facebook "to my Mum in Heaven" but I figured I would take it up a notch.

My Mother lived until she was 80. Although my Mother probably seemed like a pretty ordinary person, a sweet little old lady, there were some pretty interesting things about her that you probably didn’t know. So, I want to do a top 10 “Did You Know” countdown  to tell you a few secrets about my Mum.

10. When my cell phone rang, a Kid Rock song would play. When Mum heard it, she would start dancing around the kitchen, bathroom, wherever.  In fact, my 80-Mother dancing to the song “So Hott” got my attention way more than a ringing cell phone ever could.

9. in 1960 Mum was one of two people that got polio in the Perth-Andover area. The doctor said she would never walk again without braces, but with Dad’s help, and Mum’s strength and resilience, she never had to wear leg braces.

8. Mum was a beautiful singer, and she used to sing to her kids all the time. When I was little, I tried and tried to convince Mum to be a country music star so we could be rich. But Mum said she was too shy, so that money making scheme was a no-go.

7. When I was about 7, all of a sudden Mum started crying uncontrollably, and was very sad, for many days. I didn’t know who this Elvis guy was that had just passed away, but he obviously was Mum’s close personal friend for her to cry so hard and for so long.

6. Mum had a condition called spinal stenosis. She was in pain quite a bit of the time, but she was really concerned that she might get addicted to one of the hard-core drugs the doctor prescribed. Tylenol.

5. When Mum was young, she completed a correspondence course in nursing. She didn’t complete the whole program because she would have had to work in Boston for a while for the practical part of the course. It didn’t really matter if she finished her degree or not, we called her Doctor Miller, anyway.

4. When my Mum was going through menopause some number of years ago, she went through a grumpy spell, and she used to tell her kids not to stand so close to her …She’d say…”Get away from me, you’re using up all my air…..” That sure made a kid feel loved.

3. Mum was always a fan of the underdog. It didn’t matter what bad stuff a person did, she would always find their good qualities and focus on those. I can just imagine her saying, ….”well, the Devil is not that bad of a guy, he just made some bad choices, he’ll come around, just give him some time….”

2. Mum was unusually thankful. These last few weeks in the hospital, she thanked everyone that helped her, even if the person did the smallest of tasks like empty the garbage can in her. How many of us have the strength of character to thank the person who gives you a needle?

1. At every funeral Mum ever went to, she wore big black sunglasses over her regular glasses. I suppose she didn’t want anyone to see the grief in her eyes. She kind of looked like a white-haired Roy Orbison.

As much as Mum was just a simple farm wife from the country, she led an interesting and full life, and was a hoot ‘til the end….she loved and was loved by many. And I suppose that is all any of us can ask for.

Here is a secret I didn't tell anyone until now. I am the only person in the whole world that heard, saw, and even felt, Mum's last breath. My sisters were in the hospital room at the time, but were distracted. I was very present for her last breath, just like she was there for my first.

People are Funny

I have been a people-Manager since I was 28 years old. I have met and managed some wonderful people. But being a manager can be quite a challenge. You need a strong sense of humor to get through some of the days.

Over the years, I have had some interesting conversations with some of my employees. Some of the conversations have made me laugh, some have made me cry, and some have made me want to poke them in the eye. Luckily for me, there has been lots of laughter, little crying, and the only time I ever poked anyone in the eye was on a streetcar in Toronto when I lost my grip on the pole I was hanging on to, and a lady was standing too close to me.

So I have decided to share some of those interesting conversations between myself and my employees here....for your reading pleasure. All of these conversations happened somewhere in the last 17 years. Likely the employees who made the comments don't even remember doing so. But I remember. I remember it all.

Spiritual Lady
One of my employees was late for work. When she arrived, she asked me to step into the boardroom with her, and to bring a box of Kleenex. Since she had been having medical issues, my first thought was that she had received some terrible news about her health. Instead, she began...."The reason I am late for work is because my spirit guides told me I should drive right on past work and go to a church where a man was praying, and who needed my help".

Un-hunh.

She continued to tell me how her "kundelini was rising" and that she could see spirits all around.

I have nothing against people who have non-traditional spiritual beliefs. I have nothing against people being late for work. But I do have something against people who creep me out and give me nightmares and the heebie-jeebies every time I see them.

Pretty Lady
A very pretty young lady came into my office, obviously in distress and wishing to talk. When I asked what was wrong, she said that she never wanted to work with a particular gentleman again, and asked if I could please make sure that happened. When I inquired as to what was the issue, she said that "Every time he looks at me, he's undressing me with his eyes....you know what it's like..."

I didn't want to smile. I tried not to smile. But I smiled.

And then to test her skills to see if she TRULY could tell if someone were undressing her with their eyes, I undressed her with my eyes. Nothing. Nada. Zip. No response. 

By the way, I do not know what it is like to have someone undress me with their eyes. But at my age, if someone wants to do that, I encourage them to do so with my blessing.

Creative Lady 
I got a phone call one morning from one of my employees. It was early enough in the morning that I assumed she was calling in sick for the day.

When I answered the phone, she said "Donna, I wont be able to come to work today. I looked out the window and it looks really windy".

You know how some people have an allergy to peanuts and if they go near peanuts, the result might be anaphylactic shock and potential death? I am thinking that this creative lady was going to tell me she had a severe allergy to wind, and if she stepped onto her porch she might go into anaphylactic shock. Or maybe she has a deep-rooted psychological fear that she is going to end up in a tornado like Dorothy, and she HATES Kansas.

Man on a Mission
I had a male employee who made it quite obvious he thought of himself as very intelligent, very capable, and just a whole lot of other good things.

He was a lot of those good things, but he was also lazy and refused to do what I asked him to do for customers.

So I had to fire him.

His response "You can't fire me, I am going to be the General Manager here some day".

If he would have stopped there, we just could have parted ways on friendly terms. But no, he had to continue.

"And I'm smarter than you, so I should actually have your job instead".

Um. OK. So I should fire you from your current job and give you mine? Good try, but YOU'RE STILL FIRED!

Middle-Aged Me

As hard as it is to believe, I am officially middle-aged: 45, to be exact.

I don't feel bad about becoming an old crow. I am actually quite excited about this.

There's a whole lot of stuff I no longer have to worry my pretty little head about. For example, I don't think it's necessary for me to worry too much about trying to achieve an acceptable bikini body before my upcoming vacation to Cuba. I used to stew something awful before holidays: starve myself a little, get more than a little exercise obsessed. Now, what the heck! I'm an old lady. I'm seriously not worried about my cellulite anymore. I don't poke and prod at it, and tan it, and massage it. I'm 45! I've got more important things to think about than cellulite!

I'm also no longer worried about being polite and respectful 100% of the time. Rather, I am a lot more direct and to the point. I only have half my life left, no time for beating around the bush! For example, some time ago, one of my employees had her Dad pass away. I have lots of empathy for people going through that, since I myself became an orphan 2 years ago. So, I had to rearrange work schedules for the next week to make sure the lady could have bereavement leave. One of my other employees was not happy with my redistribution of the hours. To get to the heart of the matter, I bluntly said "I just want to understand your concern...Betty's Dad has DIED and your concern is that you only are getting an extra 4 hours of work out of it?" When she nodded, I was astounded and rendered speechless. At my advanced age, I have no energy to carry on conversations with self-centred  witches. I am not saying that I've become unprofessional, just more likely to point out the absurdity of what is in front of me. The elephant in the room, so to speak.

Other things I am so pleased about, now that I am middle aged:

1) nobody expects me to be fashionable....which is virtually impossible in Perth-Andover, anyway, since we can't even buy a pair of under-roos here. But on the rare occasion I am fashionably dressed, people seem to view it as a wondrous thing to behold.

2) I'm not worried anymore if I am going to have a successful life. This is it...given that I kept myself alive to 45, I consider that a grand success.

3) If I have an alcoholic beverage with breakfast I'm not worried someone is going to tell on me.

4) it is unlikely I am going to get pregnant and have to confess to my friends and family that I've had unprotected sex

5)  I don't have to justify my choices to anyone. If someone tries to goad me into it, I hang up the phone, tell them to leave my house, or stare at them blankly until they get embarrassed and wander away. It's not necessary that everyone likes me. If you don't,.....whatever....

6) I have a low tolerance for crazy behaviour. If you have drama, stay away. I will politely and respectfully delete you from my porch or my Facebook account.

7) I don't feel guilty about eating enthusiastically, whatever I want. When I was young, (and I think with many young females), eating other than to keep yourself alive was like some "dirty little secret". Now my only "dirty little secret" is that I haven't done laundry in 13 days.

8) I can say "no". To anyone, about anything. No guilt. No-one can make me do anything I don't want to do. So there.

9) I have given up on the concept of having a perfectly clean house at all times. Dirt driveways and 8 little puppy paws have rendered me into a state of submission.

10) I can write about all of the cool stuff I have done in the last 45 years, and it is no longer embarrassing.....looking back, I have done some pretty funny stuff, of which many things are blog-worthy. More to come on that!

My Top 9 Wishes

My drive from home to work is often up to an hour each way. I tried to shorten the drive time but driving as fast as may car would go, but that didn’t work out well. One day when I was high-tailing it to work, I passed the only other vehicle on the road, who was going a snail’s pace at 120 km/hr. I almost ran over top of the car as I sped up on him at 160, but slowed to a leisurely 140, and passed. As I zipped by, I only then realized I had just passed an RCMP forensics van. I had a split second to decide if I should slam on the brakes or keep going. I figured a bunch of forensics nerds surely would not be able to give me a ticket. Well, my judgment call on that one was not good. I didn’t get a ticket, but I did get a good scolding by a forensics gentleman who is not a nerd, and who does indeed have the ability to give offenders like myself a fine. Oops.

During my long drives, I start to make lists of things that I wish would happen, or wish would be. Daydreams of a finer life.

 Here are my top 9 wishes:

1)      I wish that the Star Trek do-dad that can transport people from here to there in no time, really existed. That would make my 2 hour daily commute much more manageable, and I would have more time to spend on my hair in the morning.

2)      That one could achieve the positive health benefits of exercise just by thinking about it really, really hard.

3)That I could quickly and discretely change my skin color depending on my mood. Sometimes I like  the tanned look…sometimes, I like pale.

4)      That more people would be like me and send NICE emails to HR about my manager, instead of calling HR because of a general belief that all Managers are notoriously evil and should be destroyed.

5)      That there would be more “whoopsa-daisies” on the road to make commutes more interesting Whoopsa-daisies are those unexpected lifts and dips in the road that make your care weightless for a few brief moments. It’s kind of like flying without the expensive airfare and luggage charges. If wish #1 came true, this wish would be unnecessary.

6)      People would shut the heck up and stop trying to prove their superior intelligence. As Steven Covey wrote, “Seek first to understand, and then be understood”. Many people’s rule is “Talk their ear off until their eyes glaze over, and then talk some more until they are rendered numb and unresponsive”. If a fella has to work that hard at trying to show they are intelligent, the fella is probably a dolt.

7)      Projection would no longer occur. Did you ever have anyone say, “you shouldn’t eat that candy bar”? And you are left wondering, why do they think it is any of their business what I ingest?  The reason they are commenting, is that their internal running commentary is really directed towards themselves, but their internal lecture overflows out of their mouth and into your space. I call this the “Hector Projector” phenomenon.  Projecting your own beliefs onto someone else. Whenever you hear someone say “you shouldn’t…..” say to them, “Yes, Hector” and laugh maniacally. Hopefully, they will leave you alone from then on.

8)      That the weeds in my ditch would be zapped into outer space, and be replaced by lovely lupins.

 

9)    That I could be a writer as a full-time job. I would travel the world signing aoutographs. But I woulnd't have to drive or fly around the world. I would use that Star Trek do-dad to transport myself here and there in no time.

Red Light, Green Light

In my job, I am a Manager of a Driver Examiner. I had a look at the tests that she gives to people regarding road signs and rules of the road questions. I am pretty sure I would pass any of her tests with a little bit of studying, but there is a fundamental problem with knowing the rules of the road; the problem is, that *I* know the rules of the road, but everyone else either doesn’t know them, or at least they don’t choose to follow them.

When I lived in Toronto, I could maneuver across 5 lanes of traffic likety-split, and my heart would not skip a beat. I could be driving at warp speed down the highway and come upon a sudden traffic jam, and not blink an eye. Last fall when Greg and I visited Toronto, my little niece decided to open the car door to throw her gum out while we were hurtling down the dangerous Don Valley Parkway. I did make her keep her hands in her lap the rest of the trip, but the situation was more funny than scary. When I asked her why she opened the door, she pointed out that her Dad had told her not to throw her gum out the window, so she decided to throw it out the door instead. That logic makes sense, at least to a 7-year old.

In P-A, the “local rules of the road” frighten me more than anything in the city. Come to a 4-way stop in P-A, and people start waving to each other to go first. Politeness is the rule here, over the proper rules of the road. People seem to give preferential treatment to some combination of: those driving nice cars, to people they know, to cute girls, to cute boys, and to really old people. But this just confuses me! If I arrive at a 4-way stop after another car, and the other person waves me through, indicating I should proceed first, I can’t help but wonder “Is this a trick”?!? I am not sure what kind of trick, but …. are people *really* just that nice?  But, the thing is, I am a simple person. If there are rules, and everyone knows the rules, everyone should follow the rules. I don’t have the logic skills to think up my own rules, or to understand non-verbal rules like wild-hand-waving at the end of the bridge.

Last week I got completely freaked out on my way to work. I drove the road I always drive to work. I came upon the stop sign I always come upon, but instead of just a stop sign, there was a blinky red light overhead. But wait, there’s more. I realized later that if I approach the intersection from either of the other 2 directions, there are blinky yellow lights, where before, there had been nothing.

 

A busy intersection in Perth-Andover. 

What this tells me is that people don’t know to heed a stop sign, so maybe the visual cues needed to be doubled-up…stop sign AND a red blinky light might get people to REALLY stop when requested.  And putting in yellow blinky lights must mean that there were too many instances of people coming at each other from different directions, pausing, then being super-polite to each other, waving to each other to proceed. Maybe all that non-verbal wild-hand-waving became too much for people, and so someone thought blinking yellow lights would help people prioritize who does what, when.

The only problem is, you give 2 people, from a super-polite community, yellow caution blinky lights, then that means it gives them even more reason to be polite and considerate and hesitate....we could end up with a traffic jam at the yellow blinky lights as people start the wild hand-waving to communicate who should proceed, with no movement from either side.

And the whole time, I will be sitting watching this at the stop sign with the red blinky light. Someone made sure as heck that I will stop, but someone forgot to put in a green light to tell me when to go!

Going on Tour

When I lived in Toronto, I was really excited to read that Kid Rock was going on tour, and that he was actually going to be in Toronto! I got tickets, and went to the show. It was a while back, and he was playing in a really large bar-type venue and there were no seats – we all had to watch the show standing up.

We were so far back in line, I thought there was no hope of me even getting a glimpse of him….I am only 5-foot-2, which means I can only see over the heads of a small select group of people…..those under age 10.

As it turns out, I am not taller than the crowd that attends Kid Rock concerts, but I am smarter. Everyone was crowded around the stage area immediately inside the entrance, and the crowd was about 40 people deep away from the stage. I walked to the *other* side of stage, and it was wide open. I got to stand right up against the stage, although there were several times during the concert when blond, braless ladies elbowed me out of the way to flash Kid Rock their newly purchased frontal accessories.

Now that I love in P-A, going on tour has a slightly different connotation.

When in a campground drinking, going on tour means you walk to all of the camp sites and introduce yourself to complete strangers, see who you know that they know, and toast to whatever strikes your fancy. I went on tour in a campground a few summers ago in P-A, and met some great people, none of whom I remembered the next morning.

There was *almost* a flood in P-A in April, just a few weeks ago. Roads were blocked off, ice and water flowing where we should be driving. On Thursday evening of Easter week-end, I had to drive an extra 45 minutes to get home, across bumpy roads, some with ice just off to the edge of my tires. I sure went on tour that day, … instead of taking me 45 minutes to get back home from work, it took me twice as long. I am really not complaining, because I got to go on tour. And that’s a good thing, right?

Easter week-end, we couldn’t leave Tobique Narrows to get to town, without going on tour. So, we decided to go on tour to see what we could see. Greg, always the metal detecting enthusiast, decided to temporarily halt the tour near where an ice jam was located the previous day, so he could see if any treasures were brought downstream with the ice. He could only dig about an inch down before he hit frozen ground. I have a picture of him digging about 3 feet from an iceburg the size of my Ford Focus. It’s not surprising he didn’t find any treasures.

 

That week-end was the first of week-end of us going on tour. Sometimes we go on tour to see stuff, and sometimes we are driving across the countryside aimlessly looking for adventure. Sometimes when we are on tour, we stop at people’s house for a surprise visit. People do that here in P-A. Back in Toronto, I didn’t stop at a friend’s house unless we had an appointment. Here, people will let you in their house while they are still in their jammies with their hair sticking straight up in the air.

So far when I have been on tour this season, we’ve seen numerous deer, flooded roads, a log jam, iceburgs and docks in the river, a farm show with big orange machines which are used for goodness knows what, and a house on fire. I think I need a break from all this touring…it’s really quite exhausting! The only way I am going to be up for going on tour again this season is if Kid Rock calls and wants me to tag along with him.   

Go Ahead, Make My Day

One of my favorite lines in a movie is when Clint squints his eyes as only Clint can do, and says "Go ahead, make my day". What a threat. And you know, deep inside your gut, that Clint will do just about anything, including shooting the bad guy dead. And Clint would have absolutely no regrets. In fact, he just might enjoy it.

Clint

As with most people, I have been in many situations where I have been (or felt), threatened, either openly or subtlety.

It all started for me when I used to go to my Grammie's house when I was little. My Mum made it quite clear the expected behaviour at Grammie's: do not ASK for anything, and do not take anything. Generally speaking, those are good rules to follow when visiting someone's home. However, like all little kids, listening to the rules and following the rules, somehow didn't quite connect.

I would sit at Grammie's and think...I want to ASK to go to the bathroom. But I'm not supposed to ASK for anything. But if I don't ASK to go to the bathroom, then I might pee my pants. Which would make Mum more upset, me ASKING to go to the bathroom, or me peeing my pants? I decided I had best not take any chances, so I did NOT ASK to go pee. I never set foot in Grammie's bathroom, EVER! I now have a bladder of steel, by the way. Do you know WHY I never asked to go to the bathroom? Because somehow, my Mum was like Clint: she could make a threat you just knew she would carry out if you did the wrong thing. There was no way I was gonna make my Mum's day!

My little brother Anthony and I really liked jumping on my parents' bed when we were little. We couldn't jump on our own beds, as they were bunk beds. That would mean you jump and either bonk your head on the top bunk or on the ceiling.

So, Mum and Dad's bed was the bed of choice for jumping. Dad was pretty particular about his bedtime routine. 10pm = bedtime. Anyone or anything getting in the way of bedtime was to be identified and destroyed. So picture Anthony and I jumping on Dad's bed at 10pm. Dad said "stop jumping on the bed". We did not stop jumping on the bed. Dad said nothing else. He merely unbuckled his belt. Now, a man unbuckles his belt when he takes off his pants. However, Anthony and I perceived this to be a threat. HALT! Then, RUN! Would have Dad hit us with his belt? Highly unlikely. However, Dad was Clint, before I knew who Clint was.

Skip ahead until I was about 20, and I somehow ended up in an unfortunate situation where a young lady threatened me with a cleaver, as she thought I had the hots for her boyfriend. When someone shows up at the door with a cleaver, the next words out of your mouth better be the right ones. Apparently I did all right, as she did not cleaver me to death. She didn't even chop off a pinky. But I'll tell you, THAT threat was worth losing sleep over!

As I grew older and matured, I realized there are very few threats worth anything more than a raised eyebrow, or maybe just a yawn.

Mum made a veiled threat to comply OR ELSE.....

Dad made a veiled threat to get the heck off the bed OR ELSE.....

Missy with the cleaver made a threat to get away from her man OR ELSE....

Besides Mums and Dads trying to keep their rampant children from destroying the world, most people who make threats are actually feeling powerless and fearful, or are trying to control a situation that just isn't going their way.

Just as an FYI, when push comes to shove, expect this blue-eyed blondie to crinkle her eyes like Clint, and utter quietly,

"Go ahead, make my day."

Happy, Happy, Happy

I like to summarize stuff. 

When people tell me long-winded stories, I like to summarize at the end of their x-minute-long diatribes by saying something wise like..."...so, you are unhappy, hunh?....", to which the typical response is another x-minute-long diatribe. I use the term "diatribe" because most people like to complain about things to me. It is a rare (actually, non-existent) occasion that someone comes in to my office, or in to my home, to expound on their great happiness. 

I think people are either very unhappy, or just like to complain. Or some combination of the two.

I, however, an an optimist. Even during the most dismal, trying life events, I try to look a the bright side. Not others....

The five things that people are MOST LIKELY TO BE UNHAPPY ABOUT, are their:
1) weight
2) spouse 
3) job
4) money situation
5) children's behaviors

I have a unique way of viewing the world on these hot-topics. I decided long ago that I could look at my life situation as a bowl of pits, or a bowl of cherries with a few itty-bitty pits in it. Spit out the pits, or swallow them whole and you never even know they were there!

Here are my views on the top 5 hot topics.

My Weight - OK, so I am not skinny. Even when I exercised myself near to death and starved myself near to death, skinny was not achievable. What's funny is that I have nice friends and lovely family regardless of what the scale says. When my pants get tight, I eat less. When my pants are loose, I eat more. Besides that, you mention my weight to me, I am likely poke you in the eye and walk away.

My Spouse - My spouse (NEW! since June 22. 2013!) is amazing. He is not perfect. I don't care. 

My Job - my job is amazingly weird. I have no words to explain how I feel about it. It is soooo---ooooo weird, it has to be a good thing, right? 

My Money Situation - The last time I made a salary of this itty-bitty-ness was in 1997 when I was a senior software engineer and 28 years old. HOWEVER!....I now live in an amazing location, with an amazing man, surrounded by family and friends. If I had all the money in the world, it could not buy what I have.

Children's Behaviours - Fortunately or unfortunately, I do not have children. I have puppies. They barf on me, eat their own poop and random Christmas ornaments, and cry in their sleep while they are dreaming of bigger, badder dogs chasing them. No way I could complain about them as they are the some of the cutest most adorable beings I have ever seen. 

If you are self-aware enough to realize when you begin to complain about your life, stop, take a breath, and then call or email me, and I will list off for you all of your blessings, so you are reminded of your cherries, not just your pits.

Happy New Year, Ladies & Gents. 

Emphasis on HAPPY!

Weddings - RUN!!!!

I went to a wedding a few weeks ago,. My good friends Kathy and Terry got married in St. Andrews, NB. They have been together about 17-18 years (I have lost count!), which means, although Kathy is the one that started out as my friend, I now consider them both my friends after that many years.

So much so, that last fall when we needed some repairs done to our gigantic garage, that we offered the job to Terry, even though he and Kathy live above 3.5 hours away. Terry lived with us for the few weeks it took to get the job done.

Part of the family, really.

So, I usually like to contrast how things in the city are soooooooo much different than in the country. However, I now realize there is one thing that is exactly the same whether in the city or the country.

And that would be WEDDINGS. 

It is my fate in life to be in awkward wedding situations that I have no idea how to get myself out of.

I went to a wedding in a barn in St Catherines, Ontario where I got to chatting with a local "farmer" who I eventually realized was a weed farmer who tried to sell me said product outside the north side of the barn where the wedding took place.

I went to a wedding in Waterloo, Ontario, where the one of the ushers, who was also my boyfriend at the time, confessed he had been making out with one of the bridesmaids the previous night. I got back at him, though, although I didn't realize it until the next day. Apparently the 12-year old boy (I was 24 at the time) who kept asking me to dance that night had his hand on my ass all night. People were appalled at that, although I didn't notice at the time, probably because I had drowned my sorrows in multiple glasses of red wine.

Speaking of 12-year olds, Kathy and Terry's wedding that I went to might have scarred me for life. I love Kathy and Terry to death, but they had me seated at the reception next to a couple about my age who have young  children. Missy wanted to tell me her whole life story since the last time I saw her 25 years ago. The part that scarred me was when she told me she has a 12-year old son, ... and he is underdeveloped compared to others his age. No trauma, yet, right? She went on to tell her son's friend has been sexually active since he was 10, and she is pretty sure he own son can't even get a hard on. 

Ears bleeding. Ears bleeding. Ears bleeding. Ears bleeding.

The next wedding I get invited to, I am going to send an AMAZING present and pretend to have the plague. 

Happy Endings

There is something very different about doing business in a small town than in the city. Last week I was in the big city of Fredericton (population 56,000) and I decided I should replace a pair of shoes that Danger and/or Daisy ate. 

I went into a shoe store with the sole intention (pun intended!) of finding black, flat, patent-leather shoes. The young lady working in the store asked if she could help me, and I asked for black, flat, patent-leather shoes. She said, "You are out of luck, we don't have any", and then wandered away.

I was somewhat disappointed, but I thought, "what the heck, I AM IN A SHOE STORE! We don't even have a shoe store in Perth! Woo-whoo!"

I wandered down the first aisle, and there was a pair of black, flat, patent-leather shoes. And then another. And another. And another, with a little splash of leopard print. So I pick up the snazzy black, flat, patent-leather shoes with the leopard print (40% off, no less!) and go to the cash register. And wait. And wait. And wait. 

I begin fantasizing  about walking out with the shoes to see if young lady even notices. I don't think she COULD notice, since she was no-where to be seen. I figured that surely before the police arrest me, I could make them look at the surveillance video that shoes I TRIED to pay! Then I imagined walking around to the cash register and madly pressing keys until an alarm went off or the cash draw popped open. I am not sure what I would do if it did pop open, but hey, this is a fantasy!

So, I ended up walking out. No shoes for me! *NOT* a shopping happy ending!

Now let's take a look at what shopping is like in Perth-Andover.

A few months ago, I went in to Patti's Gift Shop. It was a hot summer day, but I spied some tights that were only $5, regular price! A few days later, I realize maybe I should get a few more pairs of tights. I get on Facebook, write a note to Patti, but alas, there are no more tights! About a month later, a note comes into my Facebook account saying a new batch of tights are in. SERIOUSLY? I couldn't beg the shoe girl to take my money, and Patti remembers a month later I really wanted some tights. A P-A shopping happy ending!

This summer, Greg and I decide to go to Quebec to get some cheap beer. That's not illegal is it? If it is, can you please NOT tell the cops on me? (Thanks). Before heading down the highway, we stop by Kendall Nissen's store for a sub. He has great spices, nuts, organic food, and amazing cheeses. Anyway, Greg says, "Hey, you want some beer from Quebec"? Kendall says "Sure". Three hours later, we drop off some beer to Kendall, get the money.... Reselling beer isn't illegal is it? If it is, can you please NOT tell the cops on me? (Thanks). The best part is, as a thanks, he gave us some wonderful cheeses, smoked salmon and crackers. It's easy to be loyal to a shopkeeper like that. Another P-A shopping happy ending! 

Two weeks ago, I took my car to the shop to get new winter tires. I didn't know this until recently, but people around here put STUDS on their tires. They sounds like thousands of tiny metal horseshoes clip-clopping on the ground, and they keep a car from sliding all over an icy road. I am pretty sure they don't have THOSE in the city. At the end of my transaction, the lady working at the counter gave me a 2014 calendar with a car on the front. I open it up, and my innocent eyes could not BELIEVE what I saw! Inside the car calendar was a SECRET calendar. IT HAD NAKED MEN! 12 OF 'EM!!!! NAKED! I  will bet you that no garage in the city will give the lady customers free pornographic material. NOW THAT'S A SHOPPING HAPPY ENDING!!!! 

PS I hope there is a "Business of the Year" contest in P-A, I know who I am voting for!

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

I have no idea what "winner winner chicken dinner" means, but it is really catchy and makes me smile when I hear it. So, why not make that the title of this blog entry?

I have never even won a chicken dinner. 

But I did win 3 things in my life, and I won all 3 of them at different stages of my life in P-A.

When I was in grade 2 at Andover Elementary School, it was safety week, and we were all tasked with drawing an illustration of what "safety at school" meant to us. I was 7 years old, but was astounded that I won $2 for my picture. $2 could buy 8 bags of chips, or 4 bags of chips and 4 bottles of pop. Wowsers! 

The reason I was astounded that I won the contest is because I can't draw, and what I did draw made no sense. I drew a stick-child under a bus. The contest judges must have figured it had some deep significant meaning. However, when I looked at it after I had won the contest, even I could not figure out whether I meant:
a) don't nap under buses, 
b) don't terrorize your bus driver to the point he wants to run over you, or
b) don't hurl yourself under a bus if you really, really hate school. It would probably traumatize the bus driver. 

The second thing I won was when I graduated from Southern Victoria High School. Right after graduation, we had "Safe Grad", and alcohol-free party at Loring Air Force Base in Maine. After a full night of dancing, bowling and going into the hot tub fully clothed, we returned to the school and prizes were given out. I won the girls bike, Darren McQuade (how do I remember this?!?!?) won the boys bike. As my picture for the local newspaper was being taken, I was quite worried that the flash on the camera was going to show that I did not have any under-roos on. After I went into the hot tub with my clothes on, I decided my under-roos were uncomfortable, so I took them off. Somehow during the night the wet clothes I was wearing dried out. Not sure why the 'roos did not. Anyway. I was 17. 

The third thing I won happened last Saturday night. I won our local Perth-Andover Firemen's Lottery. $6121!!!! That will buy 3,008 bags of chips or 1400 bags of chips and 1208 bottles of pop. Wowsers!

Puppy Love: Danger and Daisy

About 2 years ago, I wrote in a blog posting about finding a dog I called "Lucky" while on a metal detecting gig. Both Greg and I lived in apartments at the time, so we had to leave a scared and porcupine-quilled Lucky in an abandoned house until we could get the SPCA to rescue him the next day.

I couldn't get that dog out of my head, so about a week after we found him, I took a ride down to the SPCA, about an hour away, just to check to see if he was OK. He had gone through surgery and was in great shape - but he had got adopted the day before, so I didn't get to see him.

Jump ahead a few months. Greg and I had purchased a house (4 months after we met?!?!?!) and I was off to the hairdresser one Saturday to get my hair back to it's natural blond :-). But when I walked into the salon, there were little puppies in a box on the floor. By the end of my appointment, I had called Greg, and said, "There are 2 puppies here that have no home. I can bring home 0, 1, or 2. How many should I bring home?" He said "Bring 'em both!". I was so happy he said that, I actually had tears in my eyes! In the city, it was pretty much impossible to have pups, as I travelled so much, and worked such long hours, they would have been neglected.

In the year and a half that we have had Danger and Daisy, here is what they have taught me:

1) If you name a dog Danger, he will live up to his name. Eat a whole rubber glove in one gulp? Check! Crawl 10 feet into a snow/ice cave and not be able to get out? Check! Almost get done by another boy doggie? Check. (That happened today).
2) If you name a dog Daisy, she will be cute and cuddly, but perhaps lacking in the IQ department. Sorry, Daisy. Sad, but true.
3) If I love something enough, I will clean it's poop and barf. And I will not barf while doing it.
4) Although my only other pets were tiny little goldfish, which I left in the sunshine one day by mistake, I *am* able to keep another living thing alive besides myself. 
5) When I was in my 20's my brothers gave me a Tamagotchi for my birthday. It was a little hand-held digital pet. I was so impatient that I drowned it while I was peeling potatoes when it was about 3 days old. After that, I figured if I could not keep an electronic pet alive, there would be no way of keeping a real pet alive. I learned I am way more patient when real big brown eyes are staring at me, than when I have beady little electronic eyes staring at me.

6) I have maternal instincts. When a big, bad, dog chased my puppies around the yard trying to eat them, I chased the big bad dog around my yard with a table leg yelling obscenities that would make most people blush. People might have also blushed because what I was wearing really should not have been worn while running around the yard yelling obscenities! I hope no-one caught that on video.
7) A person can use all kinds of external things to relax at the end of a long work day: have a beer, watch TV, eat chocolate.... but the best way to relax is to have a little puppy or two lick your face over and over because they are just so happy to see you. (Unfortunately, my puppies are the types that just ate their own poop before enthusiastically licking me).  

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!?!

Hi.

I have been away for two years. I didn't write. I didn't call. Have you wondered where I was, and how I was doing? I didn't forget about you guys, I just got a bit....distracted.

See, I got abducted by aliens. I was in prison? All of my fingers got broken and it took them 2 years to heal so I could type again?

The truth is, I just got lazy, distracted and busy. And fell in love. 

So, where do I begin? I am still the "city girl that came home". I have officially been home in P-A for 3 years now. But there is still about 20 years of city in me, and I am still working on adapting to country livin'! (In case you have forgotten, "P-A" stands for Perth-Andover, New Brunswick. The little piece of Heaven somewhere east of Montreal).

When I lived in Toronto and Vancouver, I tried to arrange it so that every October I could come home to visit. I would fly into Fredericton, then drive the hour-and-a-half to P-A, all the while admiring the changing colors on the trees. Red, orange and yellow. During each of these trips, I would wind my way along the "old Trans Canada" (it has a way better view than the "new Trans Canada") thinking to myself "Why the heck do I live in the city when this exists"? Every fall I vowed that some day I would make my way back to where I grew up.

Yippee-do-da! Here I am!

When I lived in the city, I occasionally heard the John Denver song "Country Roads". Every single time I heard that song, I would sob like a baby. Embarrassing, really. Now that I live in the country, if I happen to hear John Denver's song, I just get all smug and pat myself on the back, and say "you go, girl!".

Just in case you are not familiar with John Denver's soulful song....here it is for your listening pleasure!

I mentioned something up above about falling in love. Here is a picture of Mr. Greg Wallace and Mrs. Donna Miller-Wallace. We got married on June 22, 2013, and this picture was taken last week-end near one of the trees in our backyard. 

That's where I have really been in the last 2 years: Donna and Greg, sitting 'in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

See you again soon!